


The first shall fear me

by officialchildermass



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Eternal Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialchildermass/pseuds/officialchildermass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I dreamt of him, Childermass. He came to me in a cry that broke the silence of a winter wood. He came to me in flock of ravens that darkened the sky after dawn.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The first shall fear me

_The night of the 1 st to the 2nd December 1816_

Childermass’s subconscious noticed that his name was called. In a haze of dark confusion littered with tiny silver stars dancing in front of his eyes, he had thrown his covers off and had stood up before he realised that someone was in fact yelling his name.

The voice belonged to Mr Norrell.

Childermass fumbled his breeches on, threw open his door and ran to the library, while tucking his shirt into his breeches, his clumsy movements still governed by his half-sleeping brain.

Upon finding the library empty, he realised that he should make his way towards Mr Norrell’s bedroom. He did accordingly and listened at the door. Etiquette prescribed he should knock and wait for an answer, but the urgency of Mr Norrell’s previous outcries was still fresh in his mind.

He opened the door and saw the shape that was Mr Norrell curled up under his covers. His eyes started to adjust to the low amount of light and he could make out Mr Norrell’s contorted features.

Childermass knelt at Mr Norrell’s bedside, and in a gentle tone of voice asked what it was that troubled him so.

“I dreamt of him, Childermass. He came to me in a cry that broke the silence of a winter wood. He came to me in flock of ravens that darkened the sky after dawn.”

At this, Childermass took his master’s hand and pressed his forehead against it.

“I saw him and he was real. He will return, and I shall be left quite alone.”

At these words, Norrell’s fingers, caught in Childermass’s loose grip, searched for something to latch onto, and buried themselves in Childermass’s shirt.

“Strange was right. All the societies you closed down were right.”

Childermass had not the heart to tell him that such actions had been entirely at Mr Norrell’s behest, had he even been able to speak. His mouth was dry and his blood thumped in his ears.

“ _You_ were right. And all of you have been right all along.”

As Mr Norrell’s grip on Childermass’s shirt weakened, wide-eyed Childermass tried to grasp the full implication of what was going on here but found he was quite unable to do so.

With some last soft murmurs, Mr Norrell seemed to have fallen asleep again, his face somewhat more relaxed, although his brow was still furrowed.

Sleep did not come as easily to Childermass again, after he had finally left his master’s bedside. He lay tossing and turning and thinking until the pitch black of night faded into a dark blue which reminded Childermass of the colour of ink with which he wrote all of Mr Norrell’s letters of business.

He simply got up and started pacing until Mr Norrell rang for him, requesting breakfast served in the library.

Childermass brought him his toast and tea, in tentative expectation of the wrecked state Mr Norrell surely found himself in.

But nothing of the like was true. In fact, Mr Norrell seemed rather cheerful that morning, as he had decided to re-read Francis Sutton-Grove’s entire oeuvre.

Childermass felt he knew Mr Norrell well enough to be able to tell the difference between forced cheer and genuine joy, and it seemed the latter. This puzzled Childermass – had Mr Norrell forgotten what had transpired last night?

Later that day, Childermass got his answer.

Childermass was writing a letter to Lord Liverpool on Mr Norrell’s behalf, when Mr Norrell suddenly spoke up. Typically, Childermass would stoically continue with whatever he happened to be doing, but the particular content of Mr Norrell’s utterance caused his pen to scratch and ink to splatter over the paper and onto his bared forearms, as he had taken the precaution of rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“I dreamt of you last night.”

Childermass blinked and asked what had occurred in the dream, sensing he would not be surprized.

And! indeed.

“Nothing. You were simply knelt next to my bed.”

Mr Norrell frowned, and Childermass asked whether something was disturbing him.

After a thoughtful pause, Mr Norrell hesitantly denied it, and turned back to his reading. However, Childermass saw that in the space of half an hour, Mr Norrell turned the pages of his beloved _De Generibus Artium Magicarum Anglorum_ only once.

Childermass’s gaze wandered around the room until he finally could focus on his letter-writing again.

Two and a half weeks later, Childermass learnt that that particular night was the one and the same night in which Jonathan Strange had conjured his pillar of darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> I should not listen to Agnes Obel while lying in bed in the morning.
> 
> I wanted to write a piece exploring Childermass's and Norrell's relationship as it's too little explored (to my liking). I hope this is a thing that might have happened 'behind the scenes,' so to say.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I always love hearing feedback.  
> x


End file.
